


A Life's Purpose

by forthwrite



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Character Study, Darkish Harry, Drabble Collection, Gen, Revenge, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-20
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-05 12:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1818310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forthwrite/pseuds/forthwrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A distraught, disheartened, and disillusioned Harry does not take Sirius's death well, and resolves to commit suicide once he kills Voldemort.</p><p>A series of drabbles in an AU that splinters off after the Battle of the Ministry at the end of Harry's fifth year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Despair

**Author's Note:**

> Warning! Harry is in a really bad headspace right now, and take the warning for suicide seriously!

'Avada Kedavra!'

Harry ducked instinctively, and watched the harsh green light streak past him, striking Sirius directly in the chest. His body slumped to the ground.

Harry froze, the battle around him forgotten. He ran to Sirius, and kneeled beside him, embracing his broken form in his arms. Sirius couldn’t be . . . _couldn’t_  be . . . . But Sirius remained still, unresponsive, oblivious to Harry and his pain.

In the last two years, Sirius had become not quite like a father to Harry, but something closer to an older brother, or an uncle. Harry desperately needed  a loving parental figure who cared about him. Most of the wizarding world was interested in the Boy Who Lived, the famed wizard who had vanquished Voldemort. Sirius - along with Hermione, the Weasleys and Remus Lupin - cared for Harry Potter, for his emotions and feelings, and not just for the scar on his forehead. Sirius was the only adult who had ever made him feel loved and wanted.

And now he was crumpled on the floor, cradled in Harry’s arms, and would never hug Harry again. He would never tease Remus or yell at Kreacher or become Padfoot or curse Snape. He would never recover from his trip to Azkaban, get over his old grudges, or form new ones. Sirius was dead, and Bellatrix and Voldemort were going to _pay_ for taking away him away from Harry.

And once he was avenged, Harry was going to join him, was going to follow him into that bleak unknown that hovered just beyond human awareness. After all that happened, he didn't think he had the strength to stay here, to play the role of 'hero' that wizarding society -Dumbledore!- was so determined he master. He wasn't a hero.  He couldn't prevent Voldemort's  resurrection. He hadn't even been able protect Cedric. 

He was tired of being used. To Voldemort, he was a tool to enable his own rebirth. To Dumbledore, he was a convenient face to rally the masses while he himself plotted the demise of his arch-rival.  To Fudge, he was a scapegoat to direct public attention away from his own incompetency.

But now, Harry was going to choose his own fate. He was going to be an avenging angel for all of the helpless victims of the dark Satan that had stained Britain with blood and fear in his undying quest for power.

Harry gently laid Sirius down on the cold Ministry stone floor. He stood up and drew his wand, his eyes taking in the battle around him. Neville was dueling Lucius, and was surprisingly holding his own. Kingsley was battling Dolohov, and Remus and Tonks had paired up against Bellatrix.

And Dumbledore was furiously dueling Voldemort. Dumbledore managed to dodge or repel all of Voldemort’s spells, even as he himself hurled hex after curse after jinx at Voldemort. Voldemort was one of the best, one of the most feared duelers in Britain, but it was obvious that even he was having difficulty in a one-on-one duel against Dumbledore.

Voldemort was not paying much attention to his surroundings, too busy concentrating on dueling Dumbledore. Doubtless, he thought that his Death Eaters would protect their leader from any possible danger. But all of the Death Eaters were fighting Order of the Phoenix members, and Voldemort was unprotected. And Harry saw his chance to avenge Sirius.

He took a couple of steps forward, ensuring that Voldemort was directly in his line of sight, that no other duels were between him and the Dark Lord.

‘Avada Kedavra!’ Harry yelled, jabbing his wand forward. Harry was sure that his anger was vast enough, fiery enough, cold enough to fuel the spell. A green beam jetted from his wand, and struck Voldemort’s shoulder.  Harry’s lips twisted into a harsh smile, confident that Voldemort would die, that the war would be over, that magical Britain would be safe from this dangerous madman. Confident that he would be free to join Sirius.

 And Voldemort crumpled to the floor. All of the Death Eaters froze, and turned to face their master.  Harry took the opportunity to quickly fire another Avada Kedavra, this time at Bellatrix. Her body was sprawled on the ground, her body unnaturally still, her mouth twisted in a hard, frozen rictus of death.

Voldemort was dead. Bellatrix was dead. And Harry was free to die, to join Cedric, and Sirius. And his parents. A small lump formed in Harry’s throat when he thought about his mum and dad.

He pointed his wand towards his chest, determined to do it, to end it. He knew he _could_ do it, that he hated himself, was angry at himself, enough to do it. Sirius and Cedric and his parents and countless innocents _died_ because of him. _His_ blood fueled Voldemort’s return, and was thus at least partly responsible for all of the crimes Voldemort committed in the past year. Voldemort instigated a war just to get at Harry. People were hurt because of him, tortured because of him, killed because of him. They deserved justice, and he was going to give it to them. He _deserved_ to die, and would, to make up for all of the horrors that he caused.

He dimly heard someone yelling at him, but shrugged them off. His friends would be disappointed in him, he knew, but he would be dead, and wouldn’t have to face them.

‘Avada Kedavra,’ he whispered.

He heard a strangled shout behind him.

A spell jolted into him.

The world went black.

 Harry Potter was free, and at peace.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've recently been going through some old stuff, and found this. Plot bunnies attacked, and I had some free time this summer, so I think I'll slowly be adding to this over the next few weeks.  
> This chapter (it's short, I know) is mostly set up for the next one.

Snape stood in the Atrium. Just like the crumbling columns of the Ministry’s edifice around him, his life was in ruins.

He was a traitor, had traded his fear of Voldemort for obeisance to Dumbldedore, all in an attempt to save Lily Evans’ son. Lily, who he had loved so desperately, so hopelessly, still haunted him to this very day. Even now, that image of her that he carried in his mind’s eye beseeched him each day to keep her son safe.

He knew Voldemort would never have agreed to protect the boy. The Potter brat’s very existence prevented Voldemort from achieving his goals of immortality and tyranny.

So he had turned to Dumbledore instead. Made empty promise after empty promise. Swore similar oaths to a master who was not all too different from Voldemort. Voldemort terrified his servants, forcing them to obey his every word. Dumbledore manipulated children, forcing them to fight his own deadly battles for him. Voldemort wanted to achieve immortality, at any cost. Dumbledore wanted destroy Voldemort, at any cost. Neither balked at lying, manipulation, or even allowing others to die in order to achieve their goals. Voldemort killed his followers if they displeased him. Dumbledore had neglected his protégé and completely failed to notice that the boy was suicidal.

They didn’t seem that much different, to Snape. It was all the same to him. He didn’t care of his master’s plans, would do anything they wanted, so long as the boy would be kept safe.

Except Dumbledore did not keep his side of the bargain, his failure evident in the cold, lifeless body of Harry Potter. It lay there, crumpled in a heap, on the Atrium’s cold marble floor, looking like nothing more than an overly–large rag doll someone had carelessly thrown away, leaving it to rot and disintegrate and disappear.

He failed her.

He betrayed Lily’s love in the hopes that Dumbledore would be able to protect him.

Dumbledore failed him. Snape no longer considered himself beholden to Dumbledore. He would follow him, just to maintain appearances, until a better opportunity presented itself.

Dumbledore gestured to him from across the Atrium. Snape began walking towards him, carefully picking his way through the dead bodies that littered the floor. Bellatrix was dead, and the Black bastard was as good as, after falling through the Veil, the ephemeral window to other worlds. Lestrange’s body was laying beside his wife’s, his wand pointing right at her throat. Even in death, the two were fighting.

Both Voldemort and Dumbledore had lost key supporters today. Potter was gone, and with him, the symbol of the Light’s resistance against Voldemort. Potter, Black, Bellatrix, Lestrange. He wondered when his name would be added to the list. Hopefully not soon. He’d do whatever he could to ensure his survival.

And of course Voldemort was dead too. But he’d been dead before, and had returned eventually, after fourteen tumultuous years for his followers. Voldemort seemed to have figured out how to unlock death’s eternal prison and return to life. Perhaps he would return again. He would doubtlessly appreciate a spy in Dumbledore’s ranks, similar to how Dumbledore had used him against Voldemort.

He’d wait a bit for news of Voldemort’s return, he decided as he reached Dumbledore’s side. There was no reason to be hasty. Voldemort would return, or he wouldn’t. Dumbledore would prevail, or he wouldn’t. Snape had time to choose. He owed no one loyalty but himself.


	3. Chapter 3

A few weeks after the Battle of the Ministry, Dumbledore visited Snape in Spinner’s End.  It had been an interesting few weeks. A significant faction openly mourned the Potter brat’s death, but a large – and growing – group of wizards were beginning to support the Dark Lord.

As per his Lord’s request, Snape appeared to follow Dumbledore, and seemed to be one of his key supporters.

He would continue to maintain that illusion as long as it benefitted him.

Dumbledore felt comfortable with him, and often asked him for advice. He had shown up in his home over the last few weeks for impromptu war-planning sessions. Sometimes, he brought McGonagall or Moody, sometimes other Order of the Phoenix members.

Tonight, Snape’s eyes were immediately drawn to Dumbledore’s right hand. He was wearing a ring on his ring finger. It was a gold ring, with a black stone setting. The stone had a curious pattern on it, a circle drawn over a triangle with a line through it.

The tips of Dumbledore’s ring and middle fingers were withered, the dried-out skin resembled a burnt husk of corn more than living flesh. Tendrils of black followed his veins down to the palms of his hands and had begun to spread to his other fingers and up along his wrists. This was a strong Dark curse, and Dumbledore had undoubtedly come to Snape to help him remove it. Snape, however, had never seen a curse quite like this one before.

Luckily, all he needed to do was _fake_ to Dumbledore that he possessed the knowledge and skills that Dumbledore required. That way he’d seem to remain useful. But Dumbledore would not survive this. Snape would make certain of it.

“Will you tell me what happened?” Snape asked. “The more information you tell me, the more I can do to try to limit the damage.”

“I touched a Dark artifact that I believed would help the Light win this war,” Dumbledore said, raising his right hand a bit. “You will understand if I cannot tell you any more details.”

“Of course,” Snape said, doing his best to keep a placid expression on his face. Snape wondered just how Dumbledore ascended to the posts of Headmaster of Hogwarts and Chief Warlock of the Wizenmagot without learning that a wizard should never, _ever_ , touch an unidentified magical artifact whose properties were not fully understood. If Dumbledore had such little understanding of Defense Against the Dark Arts, it was no wonder that he continued to hire completely inept individuals to fulfill the DADA teaching position. He did not possess knowledge that every first-year should have. He was completely unqualified to judge a potential professor’s competency for the post.

“I’ve tried the Vulnera Sanentur,” Dumbledore said. “But as you can see, it has not helped the healing process.”

Snape shook his head slowly. “This is a serious injury, and standard healing spells will have little to no effect on it. I will be honest with you. I don’t know if I’ll be able to heal this. I will, of course, do my best to contain the rot as much as I can, but I do not know if I can cure your body of it completely.”

Dumbledore nodded. “I understand.”                                                

“I will have to put you under a Stupefy spell in order to heal you,” Snape said. “The spells I am planning to use have painful side effects, and are most effective when the patient is unconscious.”

“I’m ready,” Dumbledore said.

Snape pulled out his wand, and pointed it at Dumbledore’s chest. Snape considered himself a strong wizard, more powerful than most people, but he knew that he wasn’t in the same class as Dumbledore. This would be the first, and probably only, time he would ever be able to _Stupefy_ a powerful wizard without fear of repercussion. For the first time, he’d be able to gauge the strength of his magic against that of a wizard like Dumbledore.

Or that of Voldemort. It would be a useful thing to know, just in case he ever decided to turn against him. Just in case.            

“Stupefy,” Snape said. A jet of red light emitted from his wand and hit Dumbledore’s torso, right over his heart. He tumbled over onto the bed.

Snape took a deep breath. It had taken surprising amount of power to overwhelm Dumbeldore’s magic, almost more than Snape had expected. It was a simple, school-age spell, but Dumbledore was simply too strong for it to have much of an effect on him without Snape expending a significant amount of magical energy.  This, at least, explained why wizards like Voldemort and Dumbledore only ever dueled amongst themselves. Wizards of that class were simply too powerful, and could defeat worker wizards, even ones as powerful as Snape, without too much effort.

Voldemort was about as strong as Dumbledore, and Snape knew that he would not be able to fight him in a fair duel. Of course, ideally, the duel would not be fair, but even then, Snape believed a major power upgrade would be required to defeat Voldemort. Snape did not think he would want to support Voldemort forever, and it was useful to know approximately how much power his opponent had so that he could plan accordingly.

But for now, until a better opportunity presented itself, Snape was on Voldemort’s side. So he got to work.

Snape conjured a pint of Dumbledore’s blood, and placed it in a vial he had specially prepared. It had been spelled to preserve its contents indefinitely. Dumbledore’s blood would keep for months, if not years, in this vial.

It would definitely last long enough to fuel Voldemort’s resurrection ritual.

The bone of the father, the flesh of the servant, and the blood of the enemy. At the height of his power, his Lord had had the foresight to secret away his father’s bones. His Lord alone knew where his father was buried, and had his father’s skeleton – minus one bone - at his disposal.

The last time his Lord had ‘died,’ he had done a poor job of communicating with his servants while in his undead state. This time, he was much more prepared. His Lord now possessed the body of Wormtail, who was living in Malfoys' home. It was funny to watch the Malfoys bent themselves over backwards to treat that spineless bastard like a king. They did not want to risk offending their Lord by mistreating his choice of host.

The Dark Lord required that his servants attend to him there. Each one of his supporters was required to meet with him at least once a week to update him and to receive new orders. And of course, if the Dark Mark burned, they hastened to him as well. The Dark Lord’s network of supporters was efficient, and growing. His message and ambitions were especially popular amongst the Slytherin cohort, and they were flocking to his side. Even some Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had seen the inevitability of Voldemort’s victory, and were joining him.  

There was a whole host of people who would give of themselves to regenerate their Lord’s body, especially if this gift could get them into his good graces.

And the ideal person to fulfill the ‘enemy’ role would have been the Potter brat, of course. The small fact that he was dead precluded him from fulfilling this role. But Snape felt that Dumbledore would be an adequate replacement.

And judging by this injury, it seemed that Dumbledore would die soon, within months, if not weeks. His hand was cursed, and even if Snape tried, he didn’t think he’d be able to prevent the rot from spreading to the rest of his body.

And when Dumbledore died, Voldemort would stage his return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I'm basically writing a series of drabbles that depict important scenes in this AU I'm developing. I've got the next few planned out, and hopefully will write them over the next few weeks. It looks like this AU is going to get pretty dark, if it isn't dark enough already!

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, that was kinda dark.  
> I always felt that if HP wasn't marketed to kids, Harry would've been majorly depressed/suicidal for the last few books. Also, I feel that Harry should've had a much stronger reaction to Sirius's death than he did in canon.
> 
> Also, this seems to ignore Horcruxes. I'm not sure just what kind of setting I placed it in. Either Horcruxes don't exist, and he actually did manage to kill Voldemort. Or, much more interestingly, they do, and now that Harry's killed himself, there will be no one around to destroy Voldemort when he resurrects. I might decide to come back and write that one day. We'll see.
> 
> Anyway, reviews are nice :)


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